


China Dolls

by hardlystraight



Series: Prompts [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Arguing, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Ian's meds, M/M, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:45:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3573572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlystraight/pseuds/hardlystraight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"W- Ian?  I'm sorry, fuck, I was … I was just tryna to be nice … for once.  You know I meant well, man." Mickey speaks to the closed door and Ian's wavering response comes through the wood.</p><p>"Yeah, well, look at what 'well meant' did."</p>
            </blockquote>





	China Dolls

"Yo, Ian?" Mickey asks, quietly as he can.  It's 8am, the suggested hour Ian take his meds, but Mickey doesn't want the man to wake up.  He's still not sure bringing coffee in bed with the ginger's pills was the greatest idea.  Ian is really sensitive about his medication - Mickey would go so far as to call it _self-consciousness_.  On more than one occasion, Mickey has caught his boyfriend skipping his pills, just to prove later on that he was fine without the damn things.

He never was, though.

_He remembers going to bed one night after a horrid argument with Ian.  The morning they'd woken up, Ian had shakily confirmed taking his meds.  And Mickey trusted him._

_At 8pm that night, Mickey had taken three pills and handed them to Ian, watching tiredly as the younger man rolled them around in his hands._

_"I didn't take them you know," Ian had remarked nonchalantly.  "My morning meds.  And I'm fine."_

_"You fucking what?"_

_"I didn't take them."_

_"You told me you did!"_

_"Well I fucking lied!"_

_"No fucking shit!  Ian, you have to take your fucking meds!  Do you want me to trust you, or do I have to shove them down your fucking throat like a goddamn toddler!?" Mickey wailed.  He'd hit a nerve, he knew.  He'd gone too far.  Ian's face twisted in anger and he reached across the room, throwing their coffee table upside down, sending glass over the floor and nearly hitting a sleeping Yevgeny, who was snoring slightly in his high-chair.  Any closer and the table would have knocked the boy onto the tiled floor._

_Ian paled and realised what he'd done, his hands beginning to shake slightly._

_"I -"_

_"Get out." Mickey growls.  Ian wants to argue, but Mickey's hands are clenching and unclenching by his sides.  Ian knows that his boyfriend isn't afraid to hit him._

_…_

_Ian stays at the Gallagher's for a week, before they kick him back to Mickey, too tired of his moping and caught up in their own shit._

_Mickey goes through with his promise, watching Ian take his meds every day for a month, and Ian isn't allowed near the baby for double that time._

_It's clear that Ian's manic escapades always involve Yev, Ian starts to understand why his meds are vital to the health of not only himself, but those he can hurt in his un-medicated state._

Mickey creeps into their shared room, hoping Ian is asleep, and Mickey doesn't have to give him his meds, but he has no such luck.  Ian awakes and yawns loudly, looking at his butt-naked boyfriend through half-lidded eyes.

"Breakfast in bed, huh?  The Mickey Milkovich I met six years ago was never this romantic."  Ian has bed hair and his cheeks are pink and flushed.  Mickey thinks that, without the bipolar shit and the AWOL deal, this is who Ian is underneath.  Mellow and funny and gentle.

"Uh, yeah, I made some coffee and toast … 'n shit.  Dig in, I already ate." Ian looks at Mickey and beams, big and wide, before noticing the pills in a small bowl next to the toast.  His eyes darken and the smile drops, along with Mickey's stomach. _Shit._   He did the wrong thing.

"I, uh, I appreciate it Mickey, but I'm not hungry anymore." The ginger pushes the tray away and, after a second, takes his pills and swallows them dry, waltzing into the bathroom.  Mickey feels cold and goose bumps form on his arms.  What did he do wrong?  Shit, he's trying to be a supportive fucking boyfriend here.

"W- Ian?  I'm sorry, fuck, I was … I was just tryna to be nice … for once.  You know I meant well, man." Mickey speaks to the closed door and Ian's wavering response comes through the wood.

"Yeah, well, look at what 'well meant' did."

Mickey pulls the bathroom door open slowly and peeps in.

"Did I do something wrong?" He asks quietly.  He's treading on egg shells, here, and he hates it.

Ian's leaning against the sink, hands clutching the ceramic sides and his body rigid.  The fuzzy yellow light from the window this morning is vanquished in the tiled room, blue and black shadows highlighting the sharp, jarred edges of the other boy's body. Jesus, had Ian had lost a pound or two?  Mickey felt like shit for not noticing.

"This isn't a domestic thing, Mickey," the boy whispers.  Mickey comes into the bathroom and shuts the door.  He knows the house is empty, but it gives the boys a sense of privacy, regardless.  Nothing has to leave this room.  Ian turns back around, but doesn't meet Mickey's eyes.

"My head is fucked.  I can deal with that.  But it isn't some pretty thing that we get to tame.  My disorder is ugly and dangerous and lurking below the surface.  We can't treat it like it's part of our daily schedule.  I can't wake up, have my coffee and read the newspaper, while you cheerily remind me to medicate myself, in case I go batshit and throw Yev off a cliff. 

"It's something that's kept a secret.  I take my meds, then pretend they don't exist.  Okay?  I get to pretend I'm normal, and you get to pretend to have a normal boyfriend.  Not this … china doll." And then it clicks.

Of course.  Ian is embarrassed and ashamed of having to medicate himself for the rest of his life.  He thinks his illness, the only thing he shares with his mother, has to be hidden, and suppressed, so no one sees it.  Ian thinks he has to keep up a picture perfect icon of the perfect boyfriend, because this is what he was pushing Mickey towards for four years and now, at the end of the line, he isn't all there.

"Ian, I'm not … shit, I ain't upset about this.  I don't blame you.  You're fucking bipolar, what's new?  I … I don't care that you'll be on meds for the rest of your god-given life, man, I love you, I want to be with you, fucked-up head and all." Ian visibly relaxed, but remained slightly tense.

"You know, this isn't all about you, Mick.  I hate myself over what I've done, over who I am now.  This is still me in slight denial.  I don't want to be the "crazy brother" or the sibling people have to tip-toe around.  I just wish …"

"What?" Mickey asks, gently.

"Just wish that we could be fucking normal for once." Mickey stiffens and Ian notices."Mickey..." Ian groans, fingers reaching to find purchase in Mickey's thigh.  The ex-con exhales through his teeth and says,

"Jesus, Gallagher, we're not normal.  We're two out fags on the South Side, there's gonna be fucking battles everywhere.  Ya can't win 'em all, right?" Ian nods sourly and lets go of Mickey.

"So no one gives a fucking rat's ass whether or not you're ill.  'S long as you take your meds, no one will be comparing you to Monica, or treatin' ya like a china doll." Ian softens and pulls Mickey into a tight hug.

"The coffee's probably cold, now, huh?" He asks teasingly, and Mickey laughs.

"I'll make ya another."

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos if you found the 'Wicked' reference im sorry im such traash shit fuck


End file.
